


look at the moon and pray

by mosalyng



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, but not in the full sense of the word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 06:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosalyng/pseuds/mosalyng
Summary: In which Minghao loves the moon, but little does he know that the moon loves him back.





	look at the moon and pray

**Author's Note:**

> — this story contains mentions of the russo-japanese war, the second sino-japanese war (although both of them are very briefly described), depression, suicidal thoughts and alcohol.   
>  — this work has been heavily inspired by chinese mythology (primarily 嫦娥奔月, the story of chang'e). please note that i'm in no way associated with chinese culture, and have a very basic understanding of the language. i based my research on a limited amount of books my university provides and general knowledge i've gained during my visits to shanghai and nanjing. if there are any errors, i kindly ask you to tell me about it; i'm always happy to learn and do not intend to disrespect the culture.   
>  — the whole education system in this work is based on the one my country has   
>  — thanks @ lilli yabbay for giving me an idea for the title love you xoxo   
>  — proofread but unbeta'd, sorry in advance!

 

 

 

 

 

The moon reaches its first quarter phase on the night Minghao is born.

He knows it, because every time he calls his mother and cries, cries, cries until this throat is dry and voice is lost, she tells him this: _The day you were born, I held you tight in my arms as I looked at the moon. One part was half-illuminated by sunlight but the other was half-immersed in the moon’s own shadow and I thought, my son will always be stuck in between; light and darkness, reality and fantasy, the past and the future. I still see these struggles painted all over face, but let me tell you; I believe one day, you’ll find the balance you long for._

 

—

 

Minghao is a child and loves looking at the night sky. 

His body is too small to fit all his curiosity and ideas, but it doesn't stop him from spending his nights looking at the moon, imagining what living there would be like. Every day, he asks his parents to read him to sleep; stories of lunar deities make him both calm and restless, and soon he finds it impossible to fall asleep despite his body aching from lack of rest. It results in naps during classes and reprimands from the primary school teacher, but he doesn’t mind; deep down, he knows it’s worth it, and his parents never try to subdue his passion for the universe.

One day, his mother brings him a box of the moon and star-shaped stickers that glow in the dark, which he immediately sticks all over the wall next to his bed. From that time on, he stopped asking for stories, deciding to make up his own instead. Surrounded by the faint lights, he finally manages to get used to sleeping like a normal child; he doesn’t have to look out the window every night, and always falls asleep watching the constellations on the wall, because he knows the moon is always there, looking over him as he sleeps soundly.

 

—

 

“I want to be an astronaut,” is what he says one day during a family meeting, causing his relatives to look at him with unreadable expressions. It’s an answer to his aunt’s question, one of those relatives always ask. The whole family has gathered for his father’s birthday; the table is covered with traditional dishes, tablecloth hidden underneath multiple plates and bowls, and loud conversations echo around the room. Minghao had always disliked these occasions, but he knew being a good, well-mannered son would make his parents happy, so he always obliged and let the relatives whose faces he didn’t recognize ruffle his soft hair.

His mother, who has been watching the whole encounter while talking to her mother-in-law, smiles at him warmly and says, “You can always count on Minghao to have great dreams.” Eventually, another topic takes over the flow of conversation, but the words are still lingering in Minghao’s head, even well after the party.

That night, as he lays in his bed, wrapped up in a blanket and looking at the array of stars that hung above his bed, he makes a decision that will turn out to be a double-edged sword.

 

—

 

“Minghao,” Mingyu says, his voice on the verge of shouting. A burgundy turtleneck hugs his chest tightly, and the look is completed by a satchel bag draped over his shoulder, making him look like an epitome of a law major. “Shouldn’t you be in class?” 

Minghao adores his flatmate; he really does. Enough to call him his best friend, and that’s a lot for someone so reserved, but sometimes he wishes Mingyu would stop; nagging, lecturing, worrying. He fakes a cough and mumbles something inaudible, voice blocked by the blanket he hugs himself with. Mingyu just snorts in response and begins to leave for a lecture, grabbing his keys and seeing Minghao off by saying _have a nice day_ , and _we’ll talk about it later_. Of course.

The truth is, Minghao is scared. Scared of classes, scared of being asked questions he doesn’t know the answers to, scared of failing to achieve his goals. Even now, years later, his childhood dream still persists, and Minghao is usually not the type to give up; instead, he lets his perfectionistic mind dig into every little detail and beats himself up for the smallest mistakes. There’s a thought in the back of this head, telling him that maybe he should drop out of the astronomy degree studies and settle for something easier, maybe less ambitious, and it’s getting increasingly more difficult to push it away.

“God, maybe I should find a tutor,” Minghao sighs to himself and decides to get up. It’s almost noon; he could still make it to the last class. He leaves fifteen minutes later, hair messy and shirt so wrinkled he can almost hear his mother telling him to go and change.

(He doesn’t make it to the class that day, or the next one because as soon as he arrives on campus, his legs become paralyzed with fear and he’s unable to do anything but cry on a bench before deciding to go back home.)

 

—

 

 _He settles in bed and covers himself with a favorite blanket, looking at his mother with eyes full of anticipation. The lights are already turned off, leaving the moon-shaped stickers as the only source of light. She tucks him in, kisses his forehead and sits down next to his bed. “Today, I’ll tell you a story instead of reading one. Listen well, Xiao Hao.”_

_“Chang’e was a mortal woman, wife of the archer Hou Yi. Their life was carefree and flawless, but one day, ten suns began to shine upon the Earth, resulting in huge death tolls due to the lack of fertile land. Hou Yi managed to shoot down the nine suns, leaving one to provide the necessary light. As a reward, he gained the elixir of immortality. After his heroic act, he continued his life with Chang’e, but their happiness didn’t last long. A few days later, while Hou Yi was hunting, his apprentice broke into the house with an intention of stealing the elixir. Chang'e refused to hand it to him and instead, she drank it and flew into the sky. Since she loved her husband and hoped to live nearby, she chose the moon for her residence. Although her act was an impulsive one, the Fate condemned her for it, and so she still lives on the moon, looking over the soul of Hou Yi, having to live with the memories of happiness they once shared.”_

_By the time she finishes speaking, Minghao is already fast asleep, hugging his rabbit plushie close to his chest. She gives him one last forehead kiss and leaves the room, quietly shutting the door behind her._

 

—

 

The room is illuminated by the moonlight when he wakes up from his dream, thoughts tangled and scattered. He looks around slowly, trying to come back to reality, but his stream of thought is interrupted when his eyes land on a man who’s sitting on the edge of the bed, body facing the window. Minghao’s consciousness tries to persuade him he’s still dreaming, that the stranger is just a fantasy created by his own mind, but he can feel something is off, floating around the room and making him weirdly uneasy.

“Well, you’re finally awake,” the man says upon noticing movements on the bed. He takes his eyes off the night sky and turns to look Minghao in the eye.

No longer unnoticed, Minghao opens his mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out. He feels a restless gaze of the stranger who is waiting for an answer, but his mind seems to be unable to do anything but study the man’s face; dark hair, a loose strand falling on his forehead, and a soft smile— but what strikes him the most is the fact the stranger’s eyes are literally shining, black irises filled with small stars and sparks.

“My name is Junhui,” the man says finally, visibly impatient. His features are gentle, almost too gentle, and make Minghao feel as if he was drowning in a stream of soft lights. “I’m a messenger of Chang’e.”

Minghao, again, thinks it surely is just a dream that has never ended, but the room they’re in looks too much like his real one, and the man looks somewhat familiar as if the lines of his face were deeply engraved on his memory.  

He tries to focus on Junhui’s words instead, directs his attention to bits and pieces of memories he has. He had stopped believing in Chinese myths once he reached adolescence, young, brash and distrustful. Although all those tales accompanied him during his childhood, he eventually threw them away along with books on the topic, trying to ignore the melancholic looks on his parents' faces as he did so. He still loved the moon, spent hours looking out of the window, but his head full of ideas and stories eventually became replaced by a telescope and a tendency to calculate everything he could.

Junhui just smirks and snaps his fingers, making Minghao fall back asleep.

 

—

 

When he wakes up a few hours later, splatters of sunlight dance across the floor, indicating it’s already well past the sunrise. The room is quiet, almost painstakingly so, and Minghao finds himself wondering if the world has stopped.

It did not, and the man— _Junhui_ is still there, looking at the sky the same way he did the night before.

“Aren’t you tired?” Minghao says quietly, but somehow he knows his words will reach the man’s ears. Junhui smiles to himself as if he heard a great joke and takes his eyes off the window. It allows Minghao to look at him properly and study his face; daylight makes him look more like a human and less like a celestial being.

“Of looking at the moon, or looking over you?” he says, and there’s still a slight smile on his face, full of adoration Minghao doesn’t understand.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Junhui answers quickly, and the smile slowly fades away. “I don’t. Listen, Minghao— I know it feels unreal. I know.” His actions and words are cautious, but Minghao isn’t scared; only curious and so, so tired.

He just thinks; about the stories he loved, times he spent looking at the moon and thinking about the gods and goddesses, about the words his mother always says.

“Supposing you’re real and telling the truth,” Minghao says slowly, overthinking every word that comes out of his mouth. Saying it out loud, acknowledging the fact he begins to think Junhui might be a part of the real world, doesn’t feel right. “Then why exactly are you here?”

The words don’t come, and Junhui just sits there, looking at his own hands until Minghao wonders why does this dream feel so real, so detailed, and he starts looking for his childhood rabbit plushie for confirmation, but then the man opens his mouth.

“I am, what humans would call it, a guardian spirit; the reason for our existence is that we share Chang’e’s story, we all— betrayed our loved ones, somehow, to protect ourselves, and we—”

He stops and looks at the sky, again and again, and again, and Minghao realizes there are no more words he’ll hear.

“Okay,” he says, trying his best not to let his voice falter. “I believe you.”

 

—

 

When Minghao leaves his room an hour later, a sticky note falls off the door.

Mingyu’s handwriting is neat and precise, so he reads it easily, smiling a little as he does; the message is short but full of kindness and sincerity, so he sends Mingyu a text, _okay! :)_ but it isn’t and never will be okay, because instead of fulfilling Mingyu’s request, he goes back to his room with a steaming cup of coffee and spends the day just— hiding under the sheets, scrolling through the phone and ignoring the feeling of guilt and Junhui’s stare.

 

—

 

“What are you so scared of?” Junhui says one night, looking at Minghao with tired eyes. A few days have passed but they haven’t exchanged any words, although Junhui tries so, so hard to change it; tells him  _good morning_ every day, reminds Minghao to eat, makes lame jokes and smiles widely when Minghao laughs under his breath. At nights, he comments on the phase of the moon as he watches Minghao fidget around the bed, waiting for the sleep to come.

(It doesn’t and recently, Minghao’s eyes are always bloodshot. He cries, sometimes, every day, and wonders if it’s because of the pain in his chest or the tiredness he feels.)

Minghao doesn’t pay attention to Junhui's question, doesn’t take his eyes off the book that he’s reading (or so it seems, because maybe, just maybe, he flinches slightly, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to calm himself down, and Junhui wonders if his eyes are failing him); the room remains silent, because there’s nothing Minghao could say without falling apart.

 

—

 

There is something Minghao wants to say out loud, but he can’t; every time he opens his mouth to do so, he feels as if he was floating in space with no oxygen mask on.

Sometimes, he can hear voices at night; screaming, crying, pleading for help. Loud, terrifying, and so, so full of despair, he’s unable to endure it, but deep down, he knows it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. When he wakes up, drenched in sweat and having to lick off the blood that flows from his bitten lips, the night is always unbearably quiet and the world continues to spin.

Minghao can’t see the reason for their screams, but he can hear it; the overwhelming sound of aircraft and bombs, falling down like raindrops on a summer night.

 

—

 

Mingyu invites him to a party thrown by a girl he shares some lectures with. Minghao’s first instinct is to refuse, but Mingyu’s eyes are so full of hope he can’t bring himself to do anything but nod in agreement.

“I promise I won’t leave you alone,” is what Mingyu says, but both of them know it’s a promise he won’t keep. Minghao just nods and points at the bowl of cereal in front of him, urging Mingyu to finish his breakfast.

 

—

 

The party turns out to be a big one, and as expected, there’s not a single familiar face other than Mingyu who quickly vanishes into the sea of bodies and Junhui who seems to be utterly lost. Minghao hangs around the kitchen, drinking fancy cocktails that aren't sweet enough.

A man his age approaches Minghao when he contemplates leaving without Mingyu. He’s tall and well-built, and his skin looks sun-kissed even in the middle of winter. They talk a little about nothing in particular, circling around the topic of school, and when the man — Minghao thinks his name is Dongjae — suggests going upstairs, he lets the alcohol make a decision.

Dongjae kisses him as soon as they enter the room, and Minghao finds himself pinned against the bed that's too soft for his liking, his wrists held tightly against the mattress. His head is spinning from too much alcohol, but he keeps kissing back, hands itching to touch the other man; when he gets the approval, he pulls on the other's hair, uses his free hand to roam around his back, and hopes the name he keeps on saying is the right one.

“Fuck, your accent is so hot,” the man says into Minghao’s neck and deep down, Minghao knows the words mean no harm, but suddenly he can feel his insecurities take over, making him sober up instantly. He pushes Dongjae away without a second thought and gets up from the unfamiliar bed.

“Find yourself someone else to fuck,” he says as he leaves the room, not caring enough to look back.

 

—

 

He finds Junhui curled up next to the door. The music is loud, too loud, and Minghao just wants it all to stop. He can hear Mingyu singing drunkenly, like the social butterfly he is. If there is anything Minghao is envious of when it comes to Mingyu, it’s his ability to speak to anyone without overthinking every word.

“Let’s go home,” he says in Junhui's direction and begins to walk down the stairs, not checking if Junhui is following him, because he knows he is, just like always.

 

—

 

“I’m sorry, Minghao,” Mingyu says as soon as he enters their shared kitchen the next morning. He’s wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, eyes tired and puffy from not getting enough sleep.

“I don't mind,” he answers, and he really doesn't, because Mingyu drank and danced enough for the two of them, and also because he’s always known those big house parties are really not his thing.

The guilt in Mingyu’s eyes doesn't disappear even after he makes a cup of coffee for Minghao to drink, and there are many words Minghao wants to say to make Mingyu believe but he doesn't and just smiles tiredly at his friend as he watches him eat his breakfast.

Junhui shoots him a curious gaze and the image doesn't leave Minghao’s mind even after a few hours when he tries to lie down to sleep.

 

—

 

There are days when Minghao wonders what type of person would he be if he was born during the full moon. Or the crescent. It's an interesting thought, but he's never been the one to rely on hypotheses, so he calls his mother to ask; she just sighs and tells him it's all in the past, anyway.

 

—

 

“What is the core of a guardian spirit’s existence? Like, is there some spiritual world humans don't know about or do you just — become one after death?” Minghao asks one day, out of genuine curiosity. The book he has been reading all day is resting on his knees as he looks at Junhui, waiting for an answer.

“We all used to be human, once,” Junhui answers and frowns. The serious look on his face doesn’t suit him, Minghao decides.

“Is Junhui your human name?”

“Yeah. My surname is Wen, the full name is Wen Junhui,” he says.

“Oh? I think I know someone called Wen,” Minghao answers, looking for the right face, but there’s no one he can recall. His mind suddenly feels empty, somehow, but he decides not to think about it too much. “Was it a primary school classmate? I can't remember now.”

Junhui smiles at him softly, and there are no more words left to add, so Minghao takes the book in his hand and continues reading.

(If he didn't, if he waited a little longer, he would notice Junhui's smile fade and turn into a grimace of pain.)

 

—

 

The diner is quiet and illuminated by nothing but neon signs and weak light bulbs when Minghao walks in. It’s already past the midnight, and it seems the waitress in charge of taking orders is taking a nap behind the counter, snoring quietly. Soonyoung is already there, waving at him with a huge grin Minghao already knows by heart.

“I’m sorry for the late hour, but you know how it is with the dance practices,” Soonyoung explains himself hurriedly as he moves a little to make it more comfortable for the two of them.

 _It doesn't matter_ , Minghao wants to say. _I wouldn't sleep anyway_.

"I know," he answers instead, and looks around, searching for Junhui. The man is at the table next to the one Soonyoung has chosen, sitting back comfortably as if he was a part of the audience, watching an incredibly fascinating show. Soonyoung can’t see him, Minghao knows it, because Junhui is not real, not by the laws of this world, but it doesn’t make it any less weird. “How is the group doing?”

“We have some new members and we’ve been wasting too much time because there’s always someone who doesn’t keep up with the choreography. I’ve chosen Chan as the next leader, but I really don’t want to think about graduation, not yet,” Soonyoung answers, but Minghao doesn’t know what to answer, so he just nods to show his friend the words have reached him, at least.

"Mingyu told me you want to drop out," Soonyoung says after a few moments of quietness. He’s never been good at ignoring awkward silences that make the air too thick to breathe, and just as Minghao expects, Soonyoung doesn't look him in the eye, pays all his attention to the menu in front of them.

"Yeah," Minghao answers and fold his arms across his chest. Soonyoung is now the second person who knows (third, if he could count Junhui) and really, Minghao shouldn’t feel scared because Soonyoung is not the type to judge, but the action is clearly an act of self-protection. "Already did."

Soonyoung opens his mouth to say something, but suddenly the waitress that's been sleeping in the back the whole time approaches them with a piece of paper and asks them about their order. Soonyoung gives her a sweet smile and asks for two portions of bibimbap. When she finally walks away, yawning the whole way to the kitchen, Soonyoung turns to him with a stare that could burn a hole through Minghao’s head.

"What are you planning to do now?"

Soonyoung just asks, and good intentions are written all over his face, but in reality, he might as well have kicked his friend in the stomach, because Minghao finds himself gasping for air and unable to breathe as he stands up, walking out of the diner as fast as he can without saying goodbye.

He walks, walks, walks until he loses direction and the buildings he passes by begin to look foreign. When the familiar footsteps that were following him can be no longer heard, he stops and finally reminds himself to inhale in, exhale out.

 

—

 

If Minghao decided to be perfectly honest with his mother for once, he would tell her this: _Sometimes I imagine myself sitting in my room, alone, and I can hear someone break into the apartment. I don’t react; there is no reason to do so. This person finds me eventually, but I feel no fear as they put a gun to my head and threaten to kill me. Why should I be scared? I've got nothing to lose. I’m twenty years old and achieved next to nothing. So I open my mouth to encourage them, but all I can see is that they’re waiting for me to beg, so I just take their gun and shoot myself instead, saving them from their sin._

He doesn't tell her this, though, because he knows her heart wouldn't be able to bear the truth, and also because maybe, just maybe, this is the reason why no fear made home in his chest on the night he met Junhui.

 

—

 

After dropping out, Minghao spends most of his time painting. It’s funny, really. His art box is filled with paints of different colors, but most of the time, he uses only dark blue and gold.

Junhui doesn't seem interested, or so Minghao thinks; every time he looks at him, trying to gauge the man’s reaction to his work, Junhui’s eyes are always already averted and Minghao can never catch the sadness swimming in them.

 

—

 

Minghao is wrapped in a warm, long coat; his favorite one. The outside world is already drowned in darkness, but the hour is not that late and he watches people come home from work, exhaustion written all over their faces. He pities them, partially, but also wishes he had a place to go to every day, too. The cigarette smoke burns his throat and he makes a mental note to quit smoking next year.

“How is it?” he asks Junhui, who’s just standing silently, watching him take drags off a cigarette. The question is undefined, but Minghao is looking at the sky and somehow, Junhui knows what's he’s referring to.

“Lonely,” Junhui answers. There's a hint of sadness in his voice and he switches his stare to his feet.

It’s weird, Junhui's answer. From the information he’s gathered, Minghao knows that there are thousands of spirits similar to Junhui, and they all reside there, so it shouldn't be that lonely, but the tone of Junhui's voice makes him not question his words.

“Were you alone?” and if Minghao was in his right mind, he would laugh at the surreality of asking a guardian spirit about having friends on the moon, but the laugh doesn't come and Junhui takes a moment to answer.

“No, not really,” Junhui says. “But they didn’t get it and sometimes, I just wanted to go home.”

 

—

 

Minghao decides to go grocery shopping one day. It’s usually Mingyu’s task to buy the necessary products in a small supermarket located in their apartment complex, but he needs fresh air and besides, he’s just really craving for iced coffee.

When he comes back, a silent conversation that’s taking place in his own room reaches his ears as he sits in a hallway and takes off his shoes. For a moment, he wonders if Mingyu came back earlier than usual, but he quickly dismisses the thought as soon as he recognizes the raspiness of Junhui’s voice.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jun?” someone says, sounding disappointed. Minghao wonders who the person is to talk to Junhui like that.

“I know it's against the rules,” Junhui answers and if Minghao had to pinpoint the exact emotion in his voice, it would be just exhaustion. He can’t help but notice it's the first time he's heard Junhui speaking Korean, and there’s something beautiful and soft about the way his voice touches the syllables; there's some hesitation in his voice as if Junhui was looking for the right words. Minghao decides there’s some truth in saying foreign language changes the personality.

“At least you’re aware that whatever you’re doing is fucking illegal,” the man spits, and maybe he’s not entirely disappointed, just worried and scared. Minghao thinks they have to be close because these emotions usually derive from some type of mutual attachment. “What were you thinking when you made yourself visible?”

“I don't know, Wonwoo. Probably nothing, like always,” Junhui answers and even Minghao, who’s only an unseen listener, knows it's a lie. The whole conversation makes him nauseous and suddenly, he just wants the person who's accusing Junhui to disappear. He stands up quietly and slams the front door again to make them both notice his presence.

The man — Wonwoo, according to Junhui’s words — is gone by the time he walks into the room, finding Junhui sitting on the sofa and resting his head on the pillow. Junhui smiles at him innocently, as if nothing has happened, and Minghao can’t stand the look on his face.

(Many things remain unsaid, like always, but what Minghao doesn't know is that if he waited a little longer, kept sitting in the corridor, he would hear Junhui saying “I wanted to make sure he doesn't remember me.”)

 

—

 

“I think I figured it out,” Junhui says one day, pointing at Minghao with a pen as if he wanted to increase the strength of his words. The evening is beginning to settle in, but neither of them moves to turn on the light, so the room remains dark and gloom-ridden. Minghao just sighs in response, deeply, until there’s no more air in his lungs that he could exhale.

“Tell me: is it worth doing if you can’t do it perfectly?”

The words are everything he doesn’t expect to hear; for the first time ever since Junhui has appeared in his life, Minghao can feel fear in his chest, but he raises his head despite feeling his stomach lurch with anxiety.

“Wait, no. You don’t have to tell me anything because I already know your answer,” Junhui says, shuffling closer to the bed. His movements are so, so quiet as if he was trying not to scare Minghao off.

But suddenly Minghao just smiles, and there is no real emotion behind it, just bitterness and sorrow taking over his features. Somehow he's grateful, because in a world where everyone treats him like a failure for dropping out, at least Junhui treats him like a puzzle.

(What he doesn’t realize is that Junhui treats him as if he was the brightest star in the universe, not a mystery that needs to be solved.)

“But the world — it doesn’t work like that, Minghao, you need to realize that. It’s not black and white, despite what you believe. You can be good at what you do and still make mistakes, sometimes, because you’re human and mistakes are the root of your growth.”

“I know, Junhui,” Minghao answers, making Junhui’s eyes widen with surprise. “I know it.”

And he does, really, but knowing something is not enough if the world waits for you to act. When he’s lying in his bed a few hours later, as restless as always, a thought forms in his head; it doesn’t leave him alone until he begins to feel dead tired and finally closes his eyes. That night, he sleeps better than he has in months.

 

—

 

Minghao visits the university counselor the next day, spills his heart out in front of her and tries to ignore the empathetic glances. She just nods and tells him it’s normal, that many people feel the same way he does, but he knows it’s not true, not entirely.

When he stops talking and waits for her response, she hands him a note he’s supposed to give his professors. An hour later, he's already sitting in the office, unable to look the man in the eye.

“I shouldn’t be doing this because you’ve been skipping classes for over two months,” the professor says, and if Minghao lifted his head and stopped looking at his own hands, he would notice the man fixing his glasses and looking at him with an unreadable expression. “But you were— are one of my best students, so I’ll let it slip under one condition. You have to take an exam next week, covering the material from these past months. If you can pass it, you can come back.”

 

—

 

He spends the following week with his head buried in astronomy and physics books. Mingyu breathes a sigh of relief as he walks into the room one day and finds Minghao sleeping with his head on the textbook, the lamp desk illuminating the room. He comes back half an hour later, a steaming bowl in his hands, and leaves the dish on Minghao’s nightstand before turning off the light.

What Mingyu doesn’t see in the room is Junhui, sitting on a chair next to Minghao, watching over the younger man with affection pouring out of every part of his body.

 

—

 

On the day of the exam, Minghao puts on a white shirt, deciding to wear something official, but no too much, and leaves after making sure Junhui is there, right by his side. It’s stressful, but he finds it almost pleasant, a nice break from the routine he’s fallen into.

When the professor hands him two pieces of paper, Minghao looks at Junhui who just smiles, smiles and smiles until Minghao no longer feels paralyzed with fear, and begins to work on the equations in front of him.

Twenty minutes in, he can feel Junhui’s breath ghost over his cheek and suddenly, a quiet _think it over_  reaches his ears. It startles Minghao, but he tries his best not to show; a suspicious glance from the professor is not something he needs, not right now.

“The third question. You got it all wrong,” Junhui adds when he realizes Minghao is unaware of his mistake, and he writes the right formula with his finger in the air. Minghao figures it out quickly, crossing out his previous equations. When he finishes, Junhui gives him a thumbs up with a huge grin plastered on his face before coming back to the seat in the back of the room.

 

—

 

Months pass and Minghao doesn’t even notice when the sun begins to rise higher and higher like it always does in the summer. Finals week is just around the corner, so he often ends up pulling an all-nighter. He doesn’t feel tired though, because every time he decides to take a break from studying, Junhui always tries his best to make him smile, even if it takes a ton of lame jokes before one manages to hit the jackpot, and talks about anything and everything. 

They do that a lot, talking. Minghao often finds himself speaking his heart out in front of Junhui, who always listens, listens, listens until there are no more words and they both feel tired but always calm.

There’s this feeling in Minghao’s chest that intensifies every time Junhui flashes his usual warm smile and it takes him a while to recognize it. It’s painful, almost, but also blissful, in a way that makes him wonder if this is what soaring high to the sky feels like. He wants to ignore it, to swallow the thought until it’s buried deep. Trying not to dwell on it is only rational, but the heart wants what it wants, and it doesn’t stop him from wondering if Junhui tastes like stardust.  

 

—

 

“Thank you,” Minghao says and smiles sincerely. It’s the first day of his summer break and the weight of exams is finally lifted off his shoulders, making him feel incredibly light. When he looks at Junhui, he notices something in his eyes, something that looks too much like longing and yearning, but there’s nothing that comes to Minghao’s mind when he tries to figure out a possible origin of that feeling.

“I know, right? What would you do without me?” Junhui answers, but the look on his face doesn’t match the playful tone of his voice, and eventually, they fall into a comfortable silence, just two souls sitting on the opposite ends of the room.

“Junhui,” Minghao calls out suddenly after a few minutes, or maybe a few hours. The man is looking out the window like he always does, and Minghao thinks maybe he just misses home, maybe the longing he’s seen in Junhui’s eyes is nothing more but homesickness. “Can I kiss you?”

And the thing is, Minghao isn’t scared of dying, and the future just makes him anxious, but saying this question out loud makes him tremble with fear.

“Please, don’t,” Junhui answers quietly and turns away, but Minghao can see the tears that threaten to fall. There are many things he doesn’t know about Junhui, he realizes, but when he finally, for the first time ever since they’ve met, finds himself sincerely wishing it was different, the man just goes out of the door and leaves Minghao all alone with his thoughts.

 

—

 

There’s a letter waiting for Minghao on top of his desk when wakes up the next day. His hands shake as he opens the envelope and decides to muster courage and read it.

_I was born in 1919 as a son of a successful tradesman. We lived comfortably on the outskirts of Shenzen, my mother, my father and my younger brother and me. We had everything we needed, right there, but then my father decided it wasn't enough, and moved us to Shanghai, of all places. It was understandable since Shanghai was a paradise for business, but I wasn’t too keen on the idea. In the end, that was my father’s wish, so I had no other choice._

_That’s where I met you, a few months after later. My father often took us to a small a dongbei restaurant — I think it was just the melancholy and longing for home that made him go there almost daily, even though he was able to afford to eat in fancy places. The restaurant was run by your parents, who, just like my father, had managed to leave Manchuria before the Russo-Japanese war started. They often told us about how much they miss Anshan, but coming back was not an option, even after many years, and especially not after the declaration of Manchukuo. I knew they had a son because they often talked about you with proud smiles on their faces, but I was sure they sent you away to school because you were never there._

_One day, during our dinner, I sneaked out to smoke my father’s cigar — it was a huge risk, but I was too young and foolish to stop myself. Suddenly, you came out of the back exit, and I thought I’d been caught, but you just laughed at me and decided to keep me company. I think I knew then, on the day I met you. It was a full moon, and you looked so beautiful as we sat together on the stairs near the back exit. I knew then. I knew I would love you, and that was the most horrifying thing— it still is, even all those years, I’m still scared every time I look at you. But I loved you, and you loved me too, and it was truly a miracle. I think we— always knew it was sacred and wasn’t going to last, just like Shanghai and our lives, so we kept seeing each other almost daily. There’s nothing I cherish more than those memories._

_My father knew about the war that was coming; he’s known for a long time, I think, so he pulled so many strings to arrange an escape to Hong Kong. It was scheduled for the end of June, and when he told me, the first thing that came to my mind was you and your family. I refused to go and cried as he kept slapping me until my cheeks began to bleed. I kept telling him he had to help you, help your family, and that I wasn’t going to leave without you, but it was not much different from talking to a headstone. When he calmed down a few hours later, he told me we need to go first, alone, because it would be too dangerous to travel in a bigger group. He promised me to help you after our arrival in Hong Kong. I believed him and that— that was the biggest mistake. I still wish I knew how to stop hating myself for it and leaving without you._

_Naturally, he didn’t do anything to help. Every time I asked, he told me he was trying to find you, and that Shanghai was in chaos and the bombs continued to fall— as if I didn’t know it already. In all honesty, I just wished I was there, even if it meant I’d die. I kept hoping you would escape, somehow, that the fate would bring you to me miraculously, but it didn’t. After the war ended and the establishment of PRC was declared, I still believed you were there, living modestly like you always wanted. It was 1950 when I asked my father for the last time, and he finally told me the truth (I think he was getting tired of my daily questions that had continued for thirteen years, even after he forced me to marry and work as a banker.)— he told me you’d been dead the whole time. You and your whole family died in the bombing of the city, not long after my departure._

_I think I died then when I heard it. I’m still not sure — I didn’t feel my body at all, I just kept floating and floating until I saw the moon in its full glory and I thought, what an irony. Chang’e welcomed me with a motherly smile and it still feels surreal, even now, as I’m writing this letter. She told me I committed a great sin as if I hadn’t already known. I think I don’t need to explain what happened later._

_The past is the past, or so they say. It used to be unbearably painful, but it’s not my intention to tell you about my heartache. What I wanted to say is: when I saw your face again, it made want to be reborn. I’ve always wanted to make you happy, but it shouldn’t happen like this; I’m merely a spirit, nothing else. You haven’t changed much; you’re still as strong as you used to be, so I know you’ll make yourself happy without my help. I promise I will be back, so look for me, if you wish._

 

—

 

It’s hard to see the night sky from the windows of his apartment in the southern part of Seoul, but Minghao doesn’t mind.

It’s been five months since he moved here in order to shorten the time he used to waste on having to commute to university and research facility he now works at. When he told Mingyu about his decision, all he saw were eyes filled with fear and worry, but eventually, his friend warmed up to the idea after getting a written promise that Minghao would give him a spare key. Sometimes, after coming back from work, Minghao finds a set of plastic containers filled with his favorite dishes and a sticky note, written as neatly as always.

Although he’s spent these past few months doing nothing but working from dusk till dawn and sometimes, only sometimes, sleeping and visiting his therapist, if somebody asked him if he’s happy, he would say: yes.

 _Yes_ , because although his work is exhausting and his colleagues always give him the most time-consuming tasks while saying things about the so-called privileges of being a newbie, he loves it. He loves the telescopes and coordinates and calculations that take days to finish, but above all, he loves having the moon at his fingertips.

 

—

 

“Today is your lucky day, kid,” one of his colleagues says as he enters the shared office, a cup of coffee in his hand. Minghao looks up from his desk and looks at him, waiting for the explanation. 

“Some Ph.D. student has moved there from China — really, who changes their alma mater while working for the doctorate? — anyway, you have to show him around, he’s waiting in the lobby,” the man says, a sly grin on his face, apparently happy about not having to deal with some youngster. It should be a bother, but really, Minghao is just glad to hear we’ll be working with someone from his motherland — it’s been so long since he heard Mandarin in real life, not through the speakers of his phone. He smiles slightly and stands up from his desk, grabbing his phone and a cup of coffee he's bought on the way there.

 

—

 

When he gets out of the elevator, the lobby is almost completely empty, with the exception of a security guard who’s sitting in her booth, reading a book Minghao doesn’t recognize. She notices him immediately, and the book ends up on the pile of papers; she points in the direction of the space that acts as a provisional waiting room and Minghao nods as a way of saying thank you. 

The man Minghao is looking for is just there, waiting, fidgeting, keeping his hands on his knees to wipe off the sweat. It seems that he hasn’t noticed the movements; his stare is pointed at the floor and Minghao pities him, almost, but the feeling is gone as soon as the man raises his head and they make eye contact, he’s unable to continue walking.

It takes Minghao a few minutes, or maybe an hour to regain his breathing, to come back and look at him properly. The man stands up, and of course, of course, _of course_ , it’s the face Minghao would recognize anywhere; the gentle features, soft hair, and big, feline-like eyes. He’s finally able to notice how beautiful the is, how deep his eyes are even without the sparks that used to swim in them. There is an identity card pinned to his chest, and the first thing Minghao does is to look at it, taking his time study at the lines and circles of his Korean name. 문준휘, _Moon Junhwi_.

"I told you I'd come back," Junhui says finally, but Minghao thinks he doesn’t need to; it never felt like he left, because the moon never leaves and is always there, watching over the stars.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> aaaand it's done!! this fic was extremely hard to write and to be honest, it's very personal. i guess that's the reason. i usually write ficlets and this is the first work of mine that managed to exceed 3k words.. i rewrote it so many times, but i'm glad it's finally finished. i'm really insecure about this but i love the story, so here it is.
> 
> thank you soooo much for reading! ♡


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